


Little Cold Stars

by sentimental_animals



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M, Secret Santa, Snow Day, scientifically-impossible weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentimental_animals/pseuds/sentimental_animals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secret santa gift for <a href="http://oldfashionedsoftmeatscrown.tumblr.com/">oldfashionedsoftmeatscrown</a>. Night Vale has a snow day. Hijinks ensue*!</p><p>*hijinks include Cecil fearing the worst, Carlos soothing said fear, Earl bonding with Roger and reconnecting with Marcus, Janice on a mission, and Weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Cold Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to [oldfashionedsoftmeatscrown!](http://oldfashionedsoftmeatscrown.tumblr.com/) I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> [also I totally recycled the concept of "Cecil thinks snow is radioactive fallout" from an earlier fic of mine; I don't know if that's cheating but it just fit too well with the prompt and I regret nothing.]

_An update on the fallout crisis:_

_I am not brave enough to venture towards the windows, but Intern Robin has informed me that there is at least an inch of fluffy white puffs. It doesn’t make a sound, or have a smell, and no one is willing to go out and taste it._

_Carlos--my brave, foolish, selfless Carlos--has decided to investigate the danger himself. I informed him that I am too young to be a widower, at which point he reminded me that we were not married. [A pause.] I believe my point stands. As...unnecessary as his comment was, I reassured him that, if exposure to the falling whiteness caused illness, I would nurse him back to health and wholeness as well as I could._

 

Carlos had missed the sound of snow crunching under his shoes. He hadn’t seen weather like this in--in--

He blinked and shook his head.

He hadn’t seen weather like this in a while.

He crunched up the snow-covered steps to unlock their front door. It was unlikely Cecil would be able to safely drive in snow, since he didn’t even believe Carlos’ assertion that it was “a common phenomenon in other parts of the world” and “probably harmless”, and if he was picking Cecil up from work he thought it would be nice to make it special for him.

But that meant braving Cecil’s closet.

For a man who’d lived in a desert his entire life, Cecil sure had a lot of sweaters. Half of one whole wall was sweatshirts and soft knits, not to mention the windbreakers in the hall closet or the soft, gauzy scarves that took up a drawer all to themselves.

Carlos dug around for something he could get over his shoulders without stretching it too badly, and settled on an aged NVCR sweatshirt, worn soft through however many years Cecil had owned it. Then he selected a thick wool sweater for Cecil. One with a cat on it, destroying a city with its fiery breath. He stuffed some scarves in his bag and moved to the kitchen to heat milk and water with a little vanilla, dig out cocoa powder and sugar and cinnamon. He preheated the thermos with hot water. He hummed holiday songs under his breath.

 

_I advise you to shelter in place, Night Vale. Close your curtains and stand away from the windows. Maybe crouch in your bathtub, just to be safe. Form a protective tent over your children with your shower curtain and some tin foil and nestle in a pile of sand bags and pillows in the tub, share a few cans of cold ravioli and wait for further instructions._

 

Ha! That was Cecil all over!

Steve grinned out the window at the falling snow. Leave it to Cecil to fear the worst. Always looking out for the town, even if he did overreact sometimes.

He heard the hallway floorboards creak, saw Janice’s small face peer around the corner. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Uncle Cecil is wrong about what’s happening outside,” she said. She rolled in his direction, glancing from him to the window and back again.

Steve laughed once, a loud _Ha!_ , and squeezed Janice’s shoulder. “Of course he is. This is clearly the result of a government cloud-seeding experiment gone horribly awry. Cecil is so naive sometimes! It’s really sweet.”

Janice eyed him skeptically, and he was struck for a moment by how much she looked like her mother when she made that face.

“Mom’s on the way home,” he said. “I’ll go sweep the walkway so she doesn’t slip on the way in.”

He smiled as he swept. This was a pretty neat side-effect of dangerous governmental intervention in nature, all things considered. And it would be nice to have an afternoon at home, just the three of them. Lucky the town was currently in a state of mild panic and everything was closing or they wouldn’t have the opportunity to enjoy this time together.

Steve was just about done pushing snow off the ramp when Abby pulled slowly into the driveway. She had that cute little frown of concentration and focus while she parked and opened the door.

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Hi handsome. Christ,” she added in a mumble, “think anyone in this town has heard of snow?”

“Nope!” Steve said cheerfully. She gave him the same skeptical look Janice had spared him inside, but brightened a bit when he took her bag and kissed her lightly. Little flakes of snow were gathering in her hair and she looked like an angel, albeit with fewer eyes.

He followed her into the house, awkwardly juggling her bag and the broom.

 

_Old Woman Josie, out by the car lot, says that her angel friends have investigated the matter and determined there was nothing unnatural about the precipitation. She also sent me a really sweet picture of her and her...house guests...decorating their Christmas tree! So I’m glad they’ll have something nice to look at as we all slowly weaken and die from radiation poisoning._

 

“Which one of you is getting on top?”

Marcus leveled his fiercest glare at Josie. No matter how long he had been an angel, he still had a sense of pride--the Vansten pride, the pride of his former status.

“I can’t find the star,” she said. “Someone has to do it.”

And just in general, he was getting really sick of the angel jokes.

Erika gave Erika a worried look. “We could...make...one?” they suggested. Erika shuffled their feet and Erika looked out the window nervously.

“Pop sticks and tin foil, or something,” Erika added hopefully. “The tree won’t support us, Josie.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Marcus huffed, “I’ve got a ton of holiday stuff at the old house. I can dig up a shiny thing to put on the stupid tree.” He turned and stomped to the door. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

 

_Here’s a quick lesson in household radiation detection: Locate your family geiger counter (this may be in the broom closet, garage, or under the kitchen sink) and check the batteries. Then point the probe away from yourself and towards the suspicious area, listening for the clicks. You can chart the clicks to determine the household hot spots. If there are no clicks, you’re in the clear! Or there is so much danger that the device can’t detect it due to the dead time between clicks. In which case, you will be dearly missed, thoroughly mourned, and buried in a lead-lined casket somewhere near Radon Canyon._

_This has been Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner._

 

Earl watched the boy. The boy watched the snow.

This was his son. In spite of any evidence to the contrary, he knew it in his bones. His instincts screamed _protect him, shelter him, feed him, clothe him. Care for him._

His instincts had no advice on how to connect with him. And so here they were; Roger was up and dressed, face clean and hair combed, well fed, and silent.

“Hey, uh, Roger?” he asked, tentative, tapping his fingernail against his coffee cup.

“Yeah.” He sounded more resigned than anything. He was so small, and (theoretically) so young, but he sounded exhausted all the time.

“D’you ever make a snow fort?”

Roger turned and studied his father for a second, eyes darting back and forth like he was reading something. “Neither have you,” he said, and he sounded a little...curious, perhaps?

Earl grinned. “Well, clever guys like us, I’m sure we could figure it out.” He nudged the boy with his elbow.

Roger half-shrugged and directed his gaze to the carpet. “Okay,” he said in a small voice. “Under the porch?”

“Hmm.” Earl looked over Roger’s head into the small yard. The house had been a surprise of his sudden adulthood, and he often wished he'd had the chance to choose it himself; even if Roger didn't often play like other children, he still should have a yard sufficient for playing in, if he chose to do so one day. “Nah. We can do better than that. Get your boots.”

 

_The air is dense and tight and cold, like the panic in your chest. It smells sharp; not a smell in the traditional sense, more a feeling. The icy, tense air creeping into your body through your nose, tripping the alarm on its way into your frightened lungs._

_You get in your car and you drive. The clouds sit across the sky like a blanket. When did it get so cold? Has it ever been this cold before? Will it, you scarcely dare to wonder, ever be warm again?_

 

Carlos drove slow and steady. This was mostly to avoid shell-shocked pedestrians staring helplessly into the sky, or shouting threats to the layer of white on the ground, or abandoning their cars and darting into the street without logic or reason. Maybe he should see if Cecil would let him on the air, soothe some of their concerns. After all, they did seem to trust him.

He waited at a stoplight, rubbing his hands together over the heating vent. It had been a long time since he needed to turn the heat on in a car. Had he ever used the heat in this car before?

Finally, he was able to turn into the radio station lot, slowly navigating in the drifting snow. His poor, sweet Cecil, he thought. Missing the mystery and the wonder of the experience in his fear.

There was probably some kind of metaphor in that, he thought as he shut off the engine. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up over his head and darted into the building, head down.

He was met at the door by a red-shirted twenty-something, finger pressed to their lips, eyes wide and panicked. “Shhh,” they hissed, pointing with a trembling hand to the flashing red ON AIR sign.

Carlos patted his pockets for a pen--which of course he would not have, at least not in public--and then crossed to the fogged window. _TELL CECIL I’M HERE._ He pointed to the words he’d traced with his finger, waited for the intern to acknowledge the message.

 _PS IT’S SNOW, WE’RE GOOD_ , he added, finger squeaking on the wet glass.

 

_A thin layer of crystals coats the world around you. More fall, a dusting of white pollen, perhaps bringing death. Only if you let the fear in, you do not realize. That is where the danger is. Every year you will forget this. Every year you slow down more, as though your forgetful panic could somehow stop the ebb and flow of time, the shifting of the Earth around the sun, of the clouds in the sky._

_Route 800 is moving at a crawl, and the drivers are easily spooked by sudden movement or the slightest change in visibility._

_This has been traffic._

 

Marcus could have liquidated his assets after the Debate Incident. He was socially invisible now, in certain specific ways, and most people in his life called him Erika, if they were even willing to look at him. Things had changed. So, so many things. He’d taken the bus here, for god’s sake.

But it was nice to have something personal, something that was his. A man’s home is his castle, and he might have ascended to godly work but damned if he was surrendering the castle. Well, mansion, technically.

He stomped up the steps towards the front door. He hadn’t been back for a while. It got lonely, now--he was used to being around the rest of the angels, had taken a shine to Josie’s home cooking. Had he been lonely before?

There was a sound--a snap. Was someone sneaking up on him? Impossible. Number one, he was a freakin’ angel. Number two, what twigs were there to step on in two inches of snow on top of an impeccably manicured lawn? And who would even--

The impact was just on the edge of pain, cold and creeping down his collar. He jumped and turned.

“Kid?”

Roger was looking oddly intense--moreso than the last time Earl had brought him around. His eyes were blazing and he was actually smiling, in a way. Manically grinning, if you wanted to be nitpicky. He was half hidden behind a wall of compacted snow, which he had probably been crouching behind before he stood up to aim the snowball. _Oh_ , Marcus thought, looking at the broken icicles the kid had doubtlessly bumped as he stood, _that’s what the crunch was._

They stared at one another for a minute before Roger threw his head back, made a noise somewhere between a growl and a shriek, and charged.

“Shit,” Marcus mumbled, dodging the flurry of child and stumbling in the snow. He heard the rapid crunching of running steps behind him and grabbed a fistful of snow, crushing it together in his hand. Earl was on him in a second, pushing him down on his back.

He rolled off with a shout as Marcus ground his snowball into the top of his head.

“Ah-ha!” Marcus leapt to his feet triumphantly. “Nice try, Earl. You can’t get--” He was cut off again by the impact of a snowball against his shoulder, Roger’s slightly hysterical giggle. “Alright kid, you asked for it--”

He heard Earl’s laughter as he gave chase, compacting more snow together to defend himself with.

 

_And now, a word from our sponsor:_

_The holidays are a time for family. For snuggling up to your loved one or loved ones in front of a cozy fire, or drinking warm beverages out of mugs and taping paper and bows on anything even vaguely box-shaped._

_So travel home. Check your savings, scrape together for a plane or bus ticket. Find the people who makes you feel safe and loved, and be with them; call your mother and remember the taste of homemade cookies. Reconnect with those who watched you grow and change, nurtured you into the person you are today._

_Don’t have a family? Well, rent one._

_OkCupid: we have, like, whole warehouses full of lonely people. Just--just take one or two._

 

“Where’s Janice?” Steve stomped snow off his shoes and knocked it off the end of the broom.

“Garage,” Abby gestured vaguely in the direction of the door. “Says she’s building a sled.”

“That’s my girl.” Steve paused behind his wife ( _oh man, but she was pretty--how did he ever get this lucky, anyway?_ ) and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressed a kiss into the crook of her neck. Just a little one. After all, he had to go check out Janice’s handiwork, it wasn't the time to get distracted.

In the garage, he watched Janice in silence for a minute.

“Dad,” she said, turning on him slowly, her round face serious, “we are going down the hill.”

“I dunno, honey,” he said, “the roads are kind of a mess, maybe we should save that trip for tomorrow when--”

“No, I mean our hill.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, considering the steep slope behind their house. “Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?”

“Dad. I’m serious about this. We’re going down that hill. Are you with me or not?”

“I’m always with you, babygirl.”

“Thank you. Can I have that hammer, please?”

They worked in near silence. Janice was the mastermind, directing him to hold this and nail that, and he was proud of her, proud of how clever and determined she was, proud to help her create something she wanted.

“Hmm. I don’t know enough about rocket propulsion.” She tapped her nails on the work table thoughtfully. “What do you think Uncle Carlos is up to?”

 

 _Listeners, I’ve just been handed a note by Intern Robin, and--oh. Oh, Carlos is here. Wait, he’s_ here _? Is he safe? Does he look--sick, or anything? Well clearly I can’t leave him alone out there; I’ll leave you, in what may be our last moments, like I have so many last moments before: with[ The Weather](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rKC7ElkTUQ)._

 

“Carlos?” Cecil sounded frightened, he could hear it in his own voice. Not normal-frightened, the nebulous fear that followed him everywhere, dictated his every move. More frightened than that, because he wasn’t just frightened for himself, for family who were generally willing to take reasonable precautions. Carlos had been _out there_. In that _stuff_. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” Carlos looked up from his phone, grinned his beautiful grin, and brushed gloriously damp hair off his forehead. “Yeah, honey, I’m great. Why?”

“It’s just--you’ve been out in it all day, haven’t you? What did you discover?” His gaze flickered away from Carlos, to the writing in the fogged window, and back, without registering the words. “Are we all going to die?”

“Nope!” Carlos was disproportionately cheerful for someone who had recently been covered in whatever mysterious substance was falling from the sky. “A little chilly, that’s all.”

“Why are you all wet?”

“It melted.”

“What melted?” Fallout-laden ash didn’t melt, every Cub Scout knew that.

“The snow.”

Cecil blinked at Carlos. His eyes flicked to the window again, back to Carlos. “It’s not snow. It can’t possibly be snow. This is a desert, my sweet Carlos, it doesn't _snow_.”

“Well, somebody ordered a cozy snow day, and that’s just what we’ve got.” He smiled brightly and held up the big thermos. “I made cocoa.”

“I’ve got to wrap up in here, the weather only lasts so long," Cecil said. And then, hopeful: “Wait for me?”

“Sure thing. Here, you can take that with you. Warm you up a little.”

 

_[Fifteen minutes of solid static, with the occasional tinkling bell and a few bear growls]_

 

The place was immaculate, still: someone comes in and dusts, of course, and Marcus wondered for a minute if anyone on staff had noticed that he didn’t live here anymore. Some things had been sold, some things were packed away in boxes, a lot of it was wherever it had been the last time he’d been here.

“Wait here,” he instructed Roger. “The attic may not be safe.”

Roger shrugged, and then was still. He just--stood there. Waiting. Marcus found himself wondering when or if the boy would blink.

“You coming?” Earl shouted from the steps.

They ascended in near silence, tiptoeing up the marble staircase. “We should come out here more often,” Marcus said casually. “Like, hang out again, or whatever.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” Earl said, and it wasn’t sarcastic or bitter. He looked back at Marcus with a small smile.

“Hey, how did you know I was coming home?” In certain specific ways, this was no longer his home, but the term seemed appropriate when talking to Earl about the place.

“I didn’t. I just suggested using your property because your yard is huge. I think Roger did though, he perked right up about halfway through building the fort like he heard something and started stockpiling snowballs.” He laughed a little. “Nice to see him, I dunno--do something. Something kid-like.”

Marcus nodded without comment and led him up the attic’s small staircase. “I think there is a system of organization up here but hell if I know what it is.”

“You don’t know your own attic?”

“You don’t think I actually put things __away__ , do you?” Marcus snorted. “The only reason I know any of this stuff is here is because I got lost once. Faceless Old Woman hid my stairs,” he grumbled.

They dug around quietly for a moment before Marcus noticed a few plastic bins labeled “HOLIDAY CRAP”. There had to be a stupid star in there somewhere. “C’mere and help me,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder and see if Earl listened.

“Should we just bring all of them?” Earl asked, and he sounded slightly overwhelmed.

“I don’t care, just grab some.” Marcus shrugged. “They’ll make do.”

Roger was exactly where they left him as they descended, still staring at the spot where Marcus had been.

“He’s fine,” Earl said, although he didn’t sound convinced. “He gets stuck sometimes, but it’s getting better.”

“Hmm.” Marcus paused, reached for Earl’s arm and turned him. “Hey. We should like. Get a coffee soon or something?”

Earl smiled. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

 

_Carlos has left me his hot cocoa, and his reassurance. That tomorrow will look very much like today; that we will wake up and see it together, no more irradiated than usual. Perhaps a little colder, but perhaps a little cozier, too. A little closer to those we want to shelter, to cherish, to care for._

 

“Mom,” Janice said gravely. “We’re ready. No rocket power, ‘cause Uncle Cecil is still kinda freaking out on the radio so Uncle Carlos can’t come over and science with us, and that’s a bummer. But if we lean forward, we can still make it down that hill pretty fast--”

Abby's forehead wrinkled in that look of skepticism Steve was very familiar with. “I’m not sure this is entirely safe--”

“Mom. It’s gonna be fine--better than fine--it’s going to be great.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. It probably was going to be great, because his girl was the cleverest little thing, and when she set her mind to something, she was gonna go for it.

“And anyway, this thing is built for two. Dad’s going with me.”

Steve stopped nodding abruptly. “He is?”

“Yup.” Janice executed a graceful three point turn, managing not to look at Steve’s face; if she perceived his hesitation, she didn’t comment. When Steve caught up to her she was on the back porch, waiting expectantly next to the sled she’d fashioned from scrap wood and the door off their old minivan.

She pulled her hat down over her ears resolutely. “Ready, Dad?”

Well, if his kid wanted him to ride down the steepest hill in Night Vale on a rickety sled in the middle of a surprise snowstorm, that was exactly what he was going to do. “Ready.”

She nodded firmly and wiggled to the edge of her chair, lowering herself slowly into the sled. Steve strutted to her side, guided the sled down the ramp, and clambered on board behind her. Behind the screen door he could see Abby, cell phone camera at the ready, smiling in spite of herself.

Janice clutched the rope she’d set up for steering. She leaned forward, shifting their weight until they tipped down the hill, and let out a whoop of excitement as they gained speed.

Of course, when they watched Abby’s video later, she was drowned out by Steve’s terrified shriek.

 

_We walk together, you, and I--all of us, at the end of one holiday, approaching another, stumbling through beautiful symbolism and pagan ritual and hereditary tradition, holding hands and squinting through the storm. Pause a moment. Inhale deeply the crisp smell of air heavy and expectant. Don’t look a scientifically impossible gift-storm in the teeth._

_Try to enjoy it._

_Merry Christmas to all, and goodnight, Night Vale._

_Goodnight._

 

The nervous intern indicated in a few economical gestures that it would be safer for Carlos to wait outside in the time between Cecil’s sign-off and when he would be able to leave the building. That seemed reasonable, given what Cecil had told him about Station Management; he sat on the trunk of his car and sadly declined Janice’s request for a rocket-powered sled.

He brushed snowflakes from his hair and pulled up the hood of Cecil’s sweatshirt.

At last, the old bloodstone doors opened, and Cecil stuck his head out suspiciously. He’d pulled on the cat sweater over the apron he’d worn to work, and Carlos watched the bright flakes land on the purple sleeve as he stuck a hand out carefully.

“Why is it so cold?” he said.

“It’s snow.” Carlos hopped down off the back of the car. He couldn’t help but smile as he approached his sweet, hesitant boyfriend. “Snow is supposed to be cold.”

“I know that,” Cecil huffed. “But is it supposed to be __this_ _ cold?”

“It’s tiny crystals of frozen water. So, yeah, I would say it is.”

Cecil tilted his head back and stared into the sky. “Like stars,” he said. “Little cold stars falling out of the void. Maybe that’s what’s happening--maybe the stars are falling out.”

Carlos reached for his hand. Cecil tilted his head back down, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes, shining in his hair. He took Carlos’ outstretched hand and smiled nervously.

Carlos turned to lead Cecil towards the car. “C’mon, Ceec, let’s get out of here.”

“Wait--!” Cecil paused, chewed his lip for a second. “Just a minute. Just--one more minute.”

“Okay.” Carlos grinned at him. “Hey, let’s make maple candy when we get home, or snow ice cream, or--”

“Carlos!” Cecil looked shocked. “I’m not going to eat it. I don’t even know where it’s been!” He softened after a moment and inched closer to Carlos, suddenly shy, as though they weren’t sharing a home and a bed and a life already. He leaned against Carlos, just gently, and sighed out a little puff of vapor in the cold night air.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Cecil shook snow out of his hair as they walked towards the car. “Sorry. It’s just--it was nice. Seeing this, with you.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, sweetie.” Carlos squeezed his hand. Cecil really was lovely, dusted with snow, face red from the cold, sounding calm for the first time since the sky had changed. “Let’s go home,” Carlos said. “I’ll make us some more hot cocoa.”


End file.
